178 THE LAND OF THE LION 
was coming up, the going heavy, just as fast as my tired 
mule could gallop, but closer up I could not get, for deeper 
and deeper the bog ground grew, when I saw something 
was the matter. H. was trying to go backward as fast 
as he could. His pony, free of his weight, was out of the 
scrape, but H. seemed about to get into it. The lion 
was not coming on very fast, but his wound had angered 
him, and unquestionably, he meant business. Why H. 
was trying to get away as fast as the soft, swampy ground 
would let him, of course I could not tell. In any case, 
I had to do my thinking quickly. I was two hundred 
and fifty yards away (afterward we measured the ground 
and thought it three hundred — a long distance from which 
to make a diversion in my friend’s behalf); but H. and the 
lion were getting far too close together. I must do my 
best, and do it quickly, too. I threw myself off, the ground 
was clear of grass just there. I could see all the length of 
that fine, long side. I drew a deep breath to steady my 
shaking arms, and a quick sight, aiming well over the 
backbone. “Phut! The bullet was home —a little 
far back, as it proved, but only a very little. Anyway, it 
took the fight out of him. He slowly turned round growling, 
and instead of going farther to the papyrus, lay quickly 
down a few yards away in the long grass bordering the 
stream we had been riding along. I left my quite beaten 
mule, where he stood,and made as fast time to H.’s side 
across the bog as I was able. When I got there, the mys- 
tery of his retreat was cleared up. He hadn’t had time to 
grasp the bandoleer that held his cartridges in the hurry 
of our second start, and thus it was that he found himself, 
after firing that snap shot in the grass, which, fortunately, 
made the lion stand, facing an angry charge in a most 
disadvantageous position, with only one bullet in his gun. 
The grass was rank and high on the borders of the stream 
where his horse had bogged. He had a very poor chance 
